Like a Moth
by Elfhelm
Summary: Lucifer becomes interested in human physicality and starts getting used to having Sam around. Follows The Ties That Bind, and Through a Glass, Darkly.


**Title:** Like a Moth**  
Author: ** Elfhelm**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
****Characters:** Lucifer, Sam**  
Spoilers: **Season 5**  
Summary: **Lucifer examines the physicality of being human and starts getting used to having Sam around.

* * *

Lucifer is not certain when it started. He knows only that he spent _so long_ in Hell that even human beings have become a refreshing distraction. The ever-present ache where his family's presence should resonate quiets when he's alone with his intended vessel and Sam allows him to forget, for a time, that he suffers.

He has always been a quick study, easily understands the motives of Angels and the whims of demons, but he is beginning to learn that humans are another matter altogether.

They are such physical creatures. Lucifer understands their hate, their anger, and their greed, but he doesn't quite grasp their physicality. They are layers of complex emotion hidden in quicksilver expressions and flashes of muscle movement.

What surprises him most of all is how he is not immune to the allure.

His nightly visits to Sam's dreams find him studying these tells. Sam's thoughts come to him effortlessly but his motives, his finer emotions? They are more stubbornly concealed in the splay of his fingers or the depth of his eyes.

Slowly, Lucifer begins to catalogue these small connections between thought and movement. He distracts himself with the curious and rapid-fire changes in Sam Winchester's demeanour and he itches to reach out, to better understand.

As he has never been one to deny himself, Lucifer does exactly that.

He catches Sam's chin, forces eye contact and is caught off guard. His hand falls to Sam's collarbone and he wonders at the image that makes, finds himself fascinated by the sensation. Fascinated by the realization that this body, Nick's body, processes the touch just as Sam's does.

His vessel shrugs him off, but Lucifer is persistent. At first he does it because Sam so clearly wants him to stop. And he would have, if only Sam had asked. His vessel stays quiet, however, and Lucifer's game continues. He doesn't think about who he is playing.

It surprises him one night when he realizes that he has no interest in stopping the casual touches. He finds his hand curled around the line of Sam's shoulder or his knee pressing against Sam's leg and he smiles to himself. This is not like Home, not like Angelic company, but it is something like comfort.

Sam has begun to plead with him to spare humanity. For the past few nights, Lucifer has indulged him, encouraged the interaction. Sam ignores the fingertips tracing the veins of his forearm and he tries to convince the Archangel to stop the apocalypse. The arguments don't stand a chance, but Sam is difficult to ignore – he is so delightfully earnest.

He's at it again tonight, pacing by the foot of the motel bed, explaining how he'll never say yes and how Lucifer has it all _wrong_.

Lucifer sits quietly at the table. He has stopped listening to the words, but he is captivated by how Sam's body expresses them. He watches the play of muscles along Sam's arm as he clenches his fist, the way his eyes widen when he pleads for his kind, how his shoulders slump and how he stares into the middle distance when he gives up his case.

Experimentally, Lucifer curls his fingers into his palm. He doesn't feel any different but he thinks he may be learning this language.

"You're not even listening to me."

Lucifer looks up from his hand to see Sam giving him a glare he now reads as accusatory. Slowly spreading his fingers out on the tabletop, he turns his chair to face the room.

"I'm listening, Sam," he replies with a small smile, "I'm learning a lot about you."

Sam makes a noise of frustration and sits heavily on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"What is it going to take?" His voice is muffled and Lucifer cannot see his face.

With a sigh, Lucifer moves to sit beside him, pressing their sides together. Immediately, he can feel the tension in Sam's body and he is intrigued all over again. It is not quite like reading another Angel's Grace, truly _seeing_ another being, but it is very close.

"Say yes to me."

Sam huffs out a breath and Lucifer is not at all sure that it wasn't a sob.

"Sam, you don't have to hurt like this."

His vessel moves violently away from him, turning only when he reaches the wall. His eyes narrow and he growls profanity that sound more like threats.

Lucifer stares because Sam actually just _growled_ and he is reminded viscerally of their differences. In this moment, Sam is primal and his anger runs hot – not Angelic cold – and Lucifer should feel vindicated and yet –

And yet he is disappointed.

"I am _never_ going to give you what you want, do you understand me?" Sam's voice sounds strangled, "So you can drop the act because we both know you're only here for yourself."

Lucifer watches the chords of Sam's throat move and the way his cheek twitches as if he is holding himself back and he wonders with a start if Sam can understand this language, too. He wonders if his human form is giving Sam an insight into his mind.

Abruptly, Lucifer allows stillness to fall over him.

"I _am_ here for myself," he replies as he rises from the bed. "I want you to say yes before your brother does. Because you will Sam, you will let me in. The only part of this we have control over is the timing."

"_We_ do not have anything. You're just out of luck because Dean will never let Michael take him and I will never say yes to you. Never."

Sam's voice has turned vicious and Lucifer is quietly impressed. Sam seems to have lost his fear of him, at least here, where he believes nothing is real.

In return, Lucifer allows his curiosity to show once more, feels his expression change as he considers Sam's boldness.

Curiously, he reaches out and grips his vessel's shoulders, tests different levels of pressure until Sam's eyes narrow. He drags his thumb across the skin of Sam's neck, noting the contrasting sensations of cotton and skin.

Sam remains still, staring at him unblinkingly and Lucifer understands this, too. He smiles at the thought that this human is _holding his ground_, trying to make an Archangel back down.

Sam exhales in frustration, "You're impossible! Why do you drag me here, _keep_ me here when it's just the same thing, over and over again! Why aren't you torturing me into giving in?"

Lucifer arches an eyebrow, "You shouldn't give me ideas."

Sam is silent, like he expects an answer.

"I bring you here because I want to. I like this."

And that's the truth of it, really. Lucifer's existence has become so divided since Hell and if he must choose, he prefers the secret darkness of this fake motel room with the one being in Creation who was made for him. This place has become a bubble outside of the demands and tedium of harsh daylight. And Sam, to Lucifer's surprise, is surprisingly easy to talk to.

Sam's shoulders sag under his palms, the fight leaving him.

"You are the weirdest Angel I've ever met."

Lucifer's face crinkles in confusion.

"I mean, sometimes you're so remote, but other times... You're the most human of all of them."

"You're not seeing humanity in me, Sam," Lucifer smiles at the misconception, too amused to be offended, "You're seeing Angelic qualities in yourself."

"Bullshit."

Lucifer smirks, moves a hand to the edge of Sam's jaw and traces his fingers along the line of stubble.

"We experience pain and love just like you do. More than you do. Deeper. And without these messy, base instincts that drive you to destroy everything you love. Much about your kind is admirable – especially what I can see within you. It's just ... not enough."

"Careful, there may actually be a compliment in there," Sam rolls his eyes and Lucifer can see by muscles of his eyes and the tension in his jaw that he's had about enough of being lectured for one night.

"Of course there was."

Sam sighs and pulls away from him, withdrawing from his touch and the almost too-casual conversation.

Lucifer lets him go reluctantly. He relaxes his sight, looks beyond this constructed reality and into the swirling ether of Sam's mind, "You have to go."

"What?"

"It's already morning. Your brother will be suspicious if I keep you any longer. I wouldn't want to make trouble for you."

"Wait, how do you what time it is? Do you know where we are?" Sam is urgent, panic brightening his eyes.

Lucifer mimics Sam's eye roll, "I know that it's morning because your mind does. Whether or not you are aware of it."

Sam's posture relaxes, "Oh. Sorry."

"Soon, Sam, you will trust me."

Before he can reply, Lucifer closes the distance between them, presses two fingers against Sam's forehead, and _pushes_.

They are thrust into the maelstrom of disorganized thoughts and sensory input. Lucifer easily takes control of their course, finds Sam's centre, and guides him to it. The moment Sam's conscious mind awakes, Castiel's sigil rips Lucifer away and throws him back onto the ethereal plane.

He directs his flight back to Earth and lands heavily somewhere far from Sam.

Lucifer can't help but feel that this amalgamation of emotion, thought, and movement is changing how he views mankind. Or, at the very least, how he views Sam. He finds his eyes constantly drawn to Sam's expressions and the lines of his body, to the flare of hope and righteousness that burns within him. He is fascinated by how sure Sam is – not that he is necessarily right, but that Lucifer is wrong.

The last thing he wants to do is extinguish that spirit. It feels too much like suppressing himself. Lucifer is getting comfortable with Sam Winchester and he is not at all sure that it's a good thing.

But one thing he is absolutely sure of is that when he finds Sam, that sigil will be the first thing to go.


End file.
